The Infidelity of Trust
by Verity Strange
Summary: We always knew whom James Norrington loved.  But who loved him?  Read and review, please!  NorringtonxOC
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this chapter except for Patience Wilcox.**

The Infidelity of Trust, by Verity Strange

_Chapter One: Setting the Scene of an Engagement_

In my earliest memory of my mother, she sternly chided my undue amount of trust. You should have been named Faith, dear, and not Patience, for you fail to live up to your name. I remember her merciless punishment, being tied by my hair to my bed without any supper, after that day. I seem to remember having committed the crime: waiting outside the butcher's for my mother, and naively taking the hand of a perfect stranger who offered to take me somewhere fun. I had been bored, and this offer sounded promising. Too bad the man was a dirty scoundrel, and probably would have committed some heinous act against me had my mother not come out at that moment!

Since that day, Port Royal surrounded me like an angry jungle, waiting to pounce for the kill. My childhood, otherwise a happy and lively one, felt rather overshadowed by a sort of lurk that my mother promised would find me someday. You keep on believing every word that comes out of someone's mouth, she said, and you will end up living dirt poor in the east end. That seemed unlikely, I thought: Mother and Father would doubtless marry me to someone of our class, perhaps a navy admiral, and he would succeed my father as General of Port Royal's branch.

I spoke with my friend Elizabeth on the matter. Of course, my friend had no head for such things as marriage, but she also has never been as trusting as I. She could fend for herself, and often did. She filled her head with pirate tales and her shoes with sea brine, but I remained at home, reading Machiavelli and Aristotle and Shakespeare. I simply did not care for so much adventure. What an interesting combination, to be both cautious and trusting! Perhaps sheltered is the choicest word.

At any rate, Elizabeth promised that I would be safe. I remember that Saturday afternoon, when we had spread a blanket on a green hill overlooking the sea, and soaked in the fresh air and sound around us. I held my book in my lap—_The Canterbury Tales_, by Chaucer.

"Who will you marry, Elizabeth?" I asked her. I felt worried about this matter, as my parents had spoke more frequently about it of late.

The thirteen year old girl beside me, all elbows and knees and curly hair, sighed as if the subject put her to sleep. She absently picked a blade of grass and said, "I really have no idea. Father resists the idea of my marriage, and changes the subject if it is by chance discussed."

For the first time, though, she did not say, "I don't care." I felt a bit excited, and flopped onto my stomach beside her. I was all curves where she was angles and straight hair where hers curled. "Who do you fancy, Elizabeth?"

She blushed (blushed!) and said, "You'll never believe me. I have—probably since I met him—and you met him too—well—"

"Will?" I broke in, feeling interested. He fancied her too, I wagered.

"Well, why are you so eager?" she cried defensively. "Who is it you would want?"

I had not expected this, and tried to change the subject, but Elizabeth remained stubborn. Finally I broke.

"Captain Norrington," I said, and bowed my head so she would not see my blush. When she remained silent, I looked up and saw her expression. It seemed she was torn between wanting to laugh and shriek with delight, and wanting to reach out and pat my shoulder when I cried.

"Poor Patience," she murmured, and I knew why. For, you see, Norrington fancied _her._

* * *

Well, I did not give up hope, until one day, several years later, when I attended James Norrington's promotion ceremony. I met Elizabeth, we exchanged pleasantries, and I settled between my father and mother in the crowd.

I saw James (_not James, Commodore Norrington, don't be improper_) walk past me. _How could I still love him? What would I know about love anyway?_ I smiled, and he smiled back. Just a smile, though. He was so polite. I suppose there was no real heart in it, but I would like to believe so.

After the ceremony, Mother dragged me into a crowd of her lady-friends. Since I was now eighteen, I could socialize like a proper lady. Of course, all they did was gossip ("Miss Suzanne MacDougal had her baby! Sweet girl, she is. I remember when she was a little one, at my door asking for sweets…"). For the most part, I ignored their conversation, smiling and nodding occasionally. My mind was in one place, and one place only: Commodore Norrington.

This is why I noticed when he delicately asked Elizabeth Swann to step aside with him.

A little part of me died. I had known all along, of course, that James (_Commodore Norrington! Commodore Norrington!_) fancied her. I had never considered that something would really come of this. What a fool I had been, to trust that love would carry me through!

But this was not the end of it. After a little while, I heard a yell—one of the most terrible yells I have ever heard—and someone cry out Elizabeth's name. I ran to the dock to see what the matter was—everyone else was running there too—and arrived in time to see a shaggy, wanton-looking man drag Elizabeth out of the water. He slashed her corset (what an indignity! And she was half-naked already) and Elizabeth began to breathe. I turned around and saw Norrington standing behind me.

"She is—" I began, but Norrington placed a gentle hand on my shoulder and pushed past to Elizabeth. I watched as he interrogated the ragged-looking man, who turned out to be a—

"A _pirate_," I breathed, holding tightly to my parasol.

The criminal suddenly grabbed Elizabeth, holding his pistol to her head. I suppose I fainted then.

* * *

When I came around, the pirate was clasped in shackles again, and being led away. The Governor and Norrington shooed Elizabeth away, and I held tightly to Mother's hand as she led me home.

"Everyone has had quite a fright," she chided, as if the scene had been my fault. I clumsily reentered my home and walked up the stairs to my bedroom.

A rough day, I thought. Why didn't James love me? What did he see in Elizabeth anyway? I felt a little rush of cold anger towards the girl. I knew it was not her fault, she did not love him, did not love him as much as I. Nevertheless, I crawled into bed, and imagined that I was a thin, pointy, curly-haired girl as madly in love with a man as he was with me.

Oh, what fantasies! And what a shock that tomorrow would bring…


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in this story except for plot fabrications, certain speculations, and a couple of characters of whom you have never heard.**

The Infidelity of Trust by Verity Strange

_Chapter Two: Healing the Broken_

I woke to the sound of cannon fire.

This is not the first time such a thing has happened, since our estate sits directly on the coast. I have extra-thick velvet curtains for just that purpose: blocking out unwanted sounds. Usually, cannon fire is nothing to fret about, as the Navy likes to test out the artillery at all odd hours. However, as I rolled over and tried to fall back asleep, I realized that something unusual echoed through the Caribbean night.

Gunshots. That was a first. With surprising alacrity for one who had, moments before, been asleep, I pulled on my dressing gown and stumbled to the window. I pulled back the curtains to see a ragtag band of men out on the lawn below me, firing shots and shouting obscenities into the warm air.

I heard a door slam, and watched, horrified, as another character joined this late-night vignette. My father, wearing naught but his dressing-gown and pajamas, strode onto the lawn. He carried his bayonet and his general's sword and waved both madly as he marched towards the men. He was still waving them as one of the ragged sailors shot him dead.

I screamed, feeling my vision blacken, and I slipped to the ground. "_Father,_" I cried like a child, and tears streamed down my dressing gown and wet my hair slung across my chest. In a sudden fit of outraged strength, I pulled myself up to the window-sill and rushed down the stairs. By the time I arrived at the parlour, my tear-streaked mother had dashed out the door.

"_No!_" I shrieked, kneeling at the bottom of the stairs and shaking because I knew what would happen next.

Tragically, I was right. I heard another gunshot, and the raucous men yelled some more.

"No," I repeated, just a whisper this time. My parents, brutally murdered in less time than it takes to tie a corset. I held on to the banister, praying that I would live through this, I would have a home, I would not be killed.

The pirates (for that must be what they were, and filthy murderers to boot) stumbled drunkenly into the parlour.

"Oi," said one, "is she the girl?"

"Neh," said another, "but she is a looker. Check out the shanks."

One of the beasts touched me, and I recoiled. "Murderers," I spat.

"She can sweet-talk, this'un," laughed the first pirate, and his hand drifted to my dressing-gown ties. I slapped him as hard as I could, but he drew his dagger and pressed it against my cheek. I felt warm blood mingle with tears on my lips.

"The next slice will be a deeper one, wench," the brute snarled. I tried to glare at him, but burst into tears. I never did handle well under pressure.

By some stroke of luck, just as the pirate's hands were wandering down to my nightgown, I heard cannon in the distance. The men froze.

"We have a duty, lads," said one towards the back. The one closest to me turned and said, "Is your surname Turner?"

"Eh," I said, surprised. "No—it's Wilcox."

"That's settled, then," said the pirate. "Well, off we go."

Very confused, I watched them leave. Suddenly, I became aware of two things at once: my parents were dead, and my nightgown was unbuttoned to my waist. I hastily remedied the latter of the two, and ran out to the lawn.

My parents' bodies were draped against one another. I could see that my mother had rushed to my father, and died before anything else could happen. With a trembling hand, I closed their eyes. In life, they had never shown any particular love other than affection for one another, but now they died in each other's arms.

I knelt in the grass beside them, facing out to sea. I could not cry anymore, and my cheek still bled a bit. Fortunately, I could staunch the wound with my handkerchief, for it was not deep.

"Cowards," I muttered, staring at the black ship out in the misty night. "Bloody pirates."

I heard cannons fire, and cheers erupt from the ship as it pulled away from the shore. Anger filled my very existence. I watched the ship disappear into the Caribbean gloom. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I did not dare turn around, but fortunately I did not need to.

"Miss Wilcox," murmured a familiar voice.

"What will I do?" I asked as I looked into the mist.

"Come with me," said Norrington, pulling me gently to my feet. He looked terrible. His uniform was disheveled, and he had been rubbing his face. His wig was slightly askew. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders (highly improper, except that he was a high-ranking officer and a man of esteem) and led me to the road.

"You're Aunt Florence lives near her…late brother's estate, no?" James said softly. I nodded, tears once again rushing down my bloodstained cheek.

"Oh—don't cry, Patience—Miss Wilcox, please don't cry!" he said sharply. I took a deep breath and let the tears stream down silently. The commodore led me down the road, and we arrived at my spinster aunt's little bungalow. She had come with me and my parents eight years ago from London, on the ship where I met the then-Captain Norrington.

My aunt came to the door. "Really, Commodore, what is all this about? And at this time of night! Patience, what is going on? How improper!"

"Miss Florence Wilcox," James said, all his usual brusqueness gone. "Please, may we step inside? I have some unfortunate news."

Auntie Florence looked shocked, but allowed us inside. "Eh, have—have a seat," she said gruffly.

"Thank you," said James. "As I said, I am the bearer of bad news. Your brother and sister-in-law," he stopped for a second, "have been brutally murdered by pirates. I offer my condolences, Miss Wilcox, and will do everything I can once I am back from my journey."

Florence stared for a moment and sat down heavily. "My—my baby brother," she murmured, shaking her head.

I, however, had other questions. "What journey?" I asked.

Norrington looked sadly at me. "The pirates—have taken Elizabeth Swann," he choked.

I felt my heart sink. However, he looked so sad, his usual tough look gone completely. I reached my hand out as he had done a mere half-hour before and touched his shoulder.

We sat for hours in silence. By the time dawn came, I had fallen asleep. I dimly registered Norrington patting my cheek and leaving through the front door.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three: Life with Auntie Florence_

I cannot remember the following three weeks very clearly. At some point, my parents' funeral was held. I remember having to leave early, because I nearly threw up by the grave.

They thought I went mad. They thought I could no longer take life. However, I simply slept most of the time. My dreams were far more pleasant than my reality.

In my dreams, I had married Commodore Norrington. I believed, fool that I was, that he loved me as much as I loved him, and we could live happily together. I watched, almost from a distance, as our dream-selves lived, raised children, grew up, died in each other's arms. Every time I woke from a dream, I stared at the ceiling and cried myself back to sleep.

I believe it was three weeks after the pirate attack, and I had sat myself up in bed. I felt a little normalcy return when I picked up the book next to my aunt's spare bed. I read the title: _**The Fable of the Bees**_, by Bernard de Mandeville. I sighed a little, and opened to read the book.

A half hour later, my aunt came up to my room with a cup of tea. She nearly dropped it as she saw my sitting up.

"You are well!" she exclaimed. "Oh, dear Patience, I was quite afraid for your—well, here, have some tea."

"Thank you, auntie," I croaked with my little-used voice. I took a sip of the bitter tea and winced.  
"Oh, my dear, so much has happened since you have been ill," dithered my aunt. "You see, Commodore Norrington arrived with Elizabeth Swann just yesterday afternoon. Not only that, he had a set of dangerous pirates captured! The execution is tomorrow at noon."

I nearly leapt out of bed. "Oh, Aunt, might I go?"

She looked at me suspiciously. "Have you not seen enough death lately?"

I shrugged. "I need to make myself present in society, auntie. Now, I think I shall bathe and go into town, if you do not mind. Do you care to accompany me?"

"I—oh, well—er—sure, why not?" Florence said, flustered.

* * *

A few hours later, we strolled peacefully down the boardwalk town. For a while, we simply gossiped idly, but there was a certain elephant in the living room. Finally, I brought it up.

"Aunt Florence, did Elizabeth—did she accept Commodore's proposal?"

Florence sighed. "Now, Patience, what you have to understand…"

I silenced her with one look. "Please, just answer the question."

"Yes."

I gazed off, in a reverie, for a while. The strangest bit was that I did not feel at all surprised. Just a little…well, amused, really. If I were to step away from the situation, it could be rather funny. Then, I realized that I was the biggest punch line, and burst into tears.

"Oh, there, there, dearie," flustered Aunt Florence. "Now, nothing's set in stone yet, but the Commodore is quite excited, and Elizabeth rather less so—"

"Oh, yes, and that's the best part, isn't it?" I muttered, trying to hide my tears behind my handkerchief.

Florence patted my shoulder and sighed. "Well, I am going home. Shop a little if you like, but come home soon. I do not care for the idea of your wandering around this little Sodom and Gomorrah by yourself."

I laughed a little at my aunt's old-fashioned ways, and embraced her. She nodded, and walked slowly back home. By the time she disappeared up the path, I spun around and raced towards J. Brown's Blacksmith. I knew what I needed.

I burst (how unladylike!) into the smithy and found a furious Will Turner beating at a sword. He spun around to face me, sweat mingled with something else on his face.

"What to you want, Patience?" he growled.

"To help you," I said softly.

"You cannot help me. Jack Sparrow is to hang tomorrow, and that's our last hope. The woman I love has betrayed me."

"Oh, don't be stupid," I groaned. "You need Jack to escape? Fine, if you plan to spring him, I will not report you, an escape is always a bit more interesting than a hanging." Will flushed when he realized I had figured him out. "As for Elizabeth, I want her married to Commodore as much as you do. Just tell her you love her, too, you fool."

Will glared at me. I waved my hand dismissively.

"Anyway, that is all I wanted to know. Good day, Mr. Turner." I turned to leave.

"Wait, Miss Wilcox," he cried, throwing a hand out. It was my turn to glare at him.

"What?"

"What do you know about offering distractions?"

The next afternoon, I silently cursed my poor judgment. _What a fool, Patience Wilcox!_ But no matter. Here I was, dressed in a servant's uniform, dirt on my face, and no backing out now.

The ragged pirate stood at the gallows, and an officer read off his charges. Behind me, I heard Will confess, "I always loved you," to Elizabeth. Despite my own dire straights, I smirked a little as I imagined Governor Swann's face.

A moment later, Will put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Move!" That was my cue. I spun around as Elizabeth fell to the ground, saying, "Look! Miss Swann's ill!" That gave Will enough of a distraction to….

Somehow, his aim was good enough that, at the instant the gallows dropped, a sword appeared in the trapdoor. The pirate Sparrow balanced on the sword as Will fought with the executioner.

I shrugged. Enough of this nonsense. I sauntered off into the shadows to watch the ensuing struggle. Eventually, the soldiers had Will and Sparrow surrounded. That was not how things were supposed to go. I approached the crowd a bit to listen.

"As is mine!" cried Elizabeth, stepping forward. She and Will stood defiantly, and the Governor ordered the men to lower their weapons. The Governor exchanged some harsh words with Elizabeth, just out of my range of hearing. She simply glared defiantly.

My heart pounded a little harder when James stepped up to Will and Elizabeth. He held up his sword and said softly, "This is a fine sword. I hope that whoever made this puts all the same care and devotion into every aspect of his life." Then, he nodded curtly, and turned away.

Needless to say, the pirate escaped, and Norrington's engagement was off. Meanwhile, I simply stood at the side, watching and waiting for him to turn to me…

* * *

Oh! This is killing me! Well, next chapter will be equally tough on poor Patience, but soon, something nice will happen...

That is, if you read and review!


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four: Highly Improper_

It was about a week after Jack Sparrow's escape that I began to worry.

Elizabeth had appointed me as her maid-of-honour, and with that came some responsibilities. I contacted the caterer, booked the church, and managed the money. Completely ceremonial, of course, as Governor Swann really was in charge of all these things. So my time was spent daydreaming, mostly.

I had begun to worry about whether Norrington would start to court me or not. Of course, it would be highly improper for him to court someone else, so soon after breaking off a previous engagement. Nevertheless, I kept my flame burning for him. As I walked past his small (but tidy) house one afternoon, I glanced into his yard. Elizabeth, who accompanied me, was chattering senselessly about something. I gave her a furtive, silencing glance, and stepped softly towards the commodore's front gate.

He sat on a wicker-style chair on his porch, with an untouched cup of tea in front of him. He was reading a book—_The Pilgrim's Progress_, from what I could tell. I felt Elizabeth stiffen next to me. She briskly called out, "Good afternoon, Commodore."

His head snapped up, and I saw, with a sinking feeling, that his gaze fell first to Elizabeth. He nodded. "Hello, Misses Swann and Wilcox."

"Hiiiiii," I said, tongue tied. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and I cleared my throat. "Er—hello, Commodore." I smiled as charmingly as I could, and he chuckled a bit. A bit sadly, that is. I desperately searched for something to say.

"Er—your zinnia looks lovely, Commodore." Zinnia! Was I really complimenting his gardening? Oh, well.

"Ahem, thank you, Patience," he said. Patience! He called me by my Christian name! I smiled as charmingly as I could. I am pretty sure I looked like a frog.

"Yes—I find that gardening is an able cure for grief," I blurted out. Both Elizabeth and James stared at me. Elizabeth had turned an unpleasant shade of puce.

"Yes, well, we'd best be off," Elizabeth said, shoving me a bit. James put up his hand. "No—no harm done, Patience. We both are grieving a bit, aren't we? Of course, my grief is minimal compared to yours, but everyone deals with things a little differently."

He rose, and approached the gate. We stood, only two feet and a fence separating us. And clothes, of course. He looked into my eyes. "Anytime you want to talk, Patience—"

"That would be highly improper, Commodore," said Elizabeth. She still looked a bit embarrassed.

"Hush, Elizabeth," I murmured. She huffed, and I smiled. He did not, but his expression softened.

"Well, it was fine speaking with you, Commodore," I said. "Come now, Elizabeth."

We had walked down the path in silence for a while. Elizabeth turned to me.

"I really do feel poorly about what I did to him, Patience," she sighed. I did not respond.

"I mean," she continued, "he really does care for me. Or did, at any rate. I imagine he would make a fine husband, if only—"

"You loved him," I finished. She nodded.

"He will love you, Patience, and I suspect he will court you soon. After all, there are hardly any more tolerable girls of his class left in Port Royal."

Somehow, I did not find this very comforting.

Three more weeks, and I had been going around to James's every couple of days. Most of the time, we sat in silence, each reading a different book. A few times, I came when he was away from port. Three times, we spoke.

I would not recount what we said, mostly because it came out to be trivial and unimportant, and what he confided in me I would never tell anyone else. Let me just say that he cared for Elizabeth much more than she could ever imagine.

As Elizabeth and Will's wedding drew closer, James became more and more distraught. Finally, he dropped by Aunt Florence's, and called on me.

"I have decided to leave Port Royal indefinitely," he said. I felt a little shocked. "Why?"

"The pirate Sparrow had had twenty-eight times the head start I promised him," he said, smiling a little. "Besides, what more is for me here?"

These words cut me. I lowered my eyes. "I can think of something."

Norrington shook his head. "Not now, Patience."

And he left.

Two weeks later, I found myself with my arm around Elizabeth Swann's shoulders.

"He'll be here soon, I promise."

It began to rain.

"Just wait, Elizabeth."

The guests began to leave.

"Just leave, Patience," she murmured, patting my hand. I shrugged. "If I see him, I'll give him hell."

As it turned out, I did not need to, for a certain Lord Cutler Beckett had already taken over that duty. He had warrants for the arrest of Will Turner, Elizabeth Swann, and James Norrington.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Terribly sorry I haven't written in about thirty years. I have had school, and other such sundry rubbish, and therefore am apparently incapable of doing anything--that is, other than staring listlessly at a chalkboard and receiving stellar grades, might I add?

Ahem. Anyway. On with the tale!

_

* * *

_

_Chapter Five: In the Dark_

"What can I say, Elizabeth?" I asked, trying not to smile. I was kneeling by the prison bars, facing her. This was just the sort of adventure she liked—getting locked in a prison cell and such. Although she never spoke much of her experience with the pirates, I could tell she was no stranger to incarceration. "After all, you look more at home there than you ever do at the palace."

"Right," she snarled. "But I was supposed to be married today, and no fool Beckett can just stand in my way."

I merely inclined my head at Will Turner. He was lost in thought, staring outside the prison cell window. I easily suspected what he was thinking: he needed Captain Jack Sparrow.

"Looks like your dearly beloved has a plan," I said, rising and fixing my skirts. "I'd best be off." I glanced nervously at Governor Swann. "Please, keep me updated. Farewell, my friends."

"A lot of good you're doing, Patience," Elizabeth said calmly. "You just wait for things to happen. Wait for things to resolve by themselves. Why don't you take the initiative for once?"

I simply stared at her. She had a point, though. "Ah, Elizabeth," I muttered, curling my fingers around the bars to the cell. My larger hands were placed directly above her slender ones. "If I knew what to do, I'd do it."

* * *

Never again did I want to feel so useless. I simply returned home and idled away the time. I really could no longer do anything of much importance nowadays, with Commodore Norrington away and my closest childhood friend locked in prison.

So I sought solace in books, much like I had in my younger days. I grew pale against the sunlight, having hid behind my leather-bound universe. Such fantasies gave me an excuse, even if it were just a private one, as to why my life had not gone according to plan. Call me petulant, but I do believe I had had a rough time.

A couple of days after Elizabeth and Will's arrest I opened the door to get some fresh air and found myself under scrutiny. A certain Mr. Mercer, who was Beckett's little lapdog as far as I could tell, appeared at my doorstep.

"Miss Wilcox," he said with an icy smile. I inclined my head. "How may I help you, sir?" I murmured politely.

"I come with inquiries regarding a certain…former friend of yours," he said, hesitating before the word "former." The word nearly made my heart stop—he could only mean Elizabeth. Had she died?

"Please come inside, Mr. Mercer," I said, standing aside to allow him into my aunt's home. I cringed a bit as he proceeded inside. His oily mannerisms did not fool me.

He sat down on the settee by the fireplace. I sat on a chair across from him, as primly as I could muster. "Now, sir, how can I help you."

He did not hesitate at all. "I am enquiring as to the whereabouts of a certain friend of yours, Elizabeth Swann," he said with a slight sneer, as if the concept of a friend were contemptible. "She has vanished from the prison, and we have reason to believe that you are harboring her. A crime punishable by death, might I add?"

I must admit that I felt terrified. He was trying to intimidate me, so I simply said, "We? Since when has our own government begun threatening orphans?"

"Miss Wilcox, if you refuse to cooperate—"

"Then you may search the house. My aunt and I are humble, and have nothing to hide…least of all brides with interrupted marriages."

Mercer rose rather abruptly. "Very well then! I shall proceed upstairs and conduct my search. If I find anything suspicious, you shall consider yourself endangered."

He snapped his fingers and two young soldiers—fully armed—came in. Bloody coward, the man who cannot even search an old spinster's house without an armed guard. I leapt to my feet and cried up the stairs to their vanishing backs, "Don't frighten my aunt! She is in her chambers, and will be quite alarmed to see armed men."

They appeared to take no notice of me. Frustrated, I sat back down on the seat. Whatever could I do? Of course, they had no reason to imprison me—I was harboring no fugitives, let alone my best friend. I waited, giving a listless nod as Mercer and his fools departed.

What would I do?

Oh, if only that fool James were here!

* * *

Well, I hope that you didn't fall asleep during that. It was a bit of a filler, but now I have the ball rolling. Will try to update again before the week's out.

Thanks!


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter Six: _

I suppose that he had forgotten about me. My aunt and I lived in quiet, semi-wealthy ignominy for three months after Elizabeth's disappearance. We would go to the market. I would listen to Florence's idle chatter with the fishmongers, the milliner, the cooper… and feel horribly indifferent to the price of tea. Yes, it was higher. No, I did not care.

One balmy morning, a young soldier knocked on the mahogany door. I opened it, and silently received a cream-colored card.

_You are cordially invited to the Port Royal Navy Ball, sponsored by His Lordship Cutler Beckett and the Governor Swann, at the Governor's Mansion_

I politely thanked the soldier and shut the door. With a slight sneer, I tossed the card to the side. The brute! What nerve he had, to hold a ball at the governor's mansion—and a governor who was now just a puppet, to boot.

Florence hurried into the parlor. "Someone knocked?" she asked. "That silly Nellie, she never opens the door. Where has that girl gone off to?"

"In the kitchens, I think," I said. I picked the card up and handed it to Florence. "Read this. Is it not ludicrous?"

She chuckled lightly. "Ludicrous it may be, my dear, but you must attend. It would be, you see, extraordinarily uncouth to reject His Lordship's request."

"I would not, I would never, go to such an event," I protested.

* * *

"Announcing the arrival of Madam Florence Wilcox, and her niece Miss Patience Wilcox," proclaimed Mercer. Aunt Florence sent him a cold smile, and I did not even acknowledge him.

We curtseyed to the assembled crowd in the Governor's ballroom. I always did like grand soirees like this—Elizabeth, less so, yet they were always held at her home. She protested that she did not like so many people staring at her, and hated when she had to dance with Norrington. Silly girl. I briefly wondered where she was, or if she was even alive.

After socializing and dancing two rounds with a couple of soldiers, we sat down for dinner. I folded my napkin, not wanting to look up at the revolting little man at the head of the table.

Lord Beckett rose and tapped his glass. "Attention, my fine guests. I welcome you into my home," ("Not his home," I thought) "on this excellent occasion. Your pageantry greatly impresses me during these dark times, when we rarely truly know when there is a traitor in our midst." His eyes lingered on me for one ephemeral moment.

I shrank slightly at his stare. I surely hoped I had not blushed. Nevertheless, Beckett looked up and continued his speech. "Now, I have the immense pleasure of reintroducing a member of the Royal Navy, the newly-appointed Admiral James Norrington."

This time, I knew I flushed. My head felt like it would either float away or start to spin. Everyone else rose to applaud James—my James! He's alive!—but I could hardly move. Florence grabbed my shoulder and helped me rise. I feebly applauded.

The rest of dinner passed as a haze. An imperceptible glance or two passed between Norrington and I—he obviously wanted to speak with me. I ached to hear his voice again, itched to reach out and touch his shoulder—no, no, what nonsense!

After the dessert course, all the guests rose to dance. I wandered towards the musicians, who were about to strike up a quadrille.

"Your hand, Miss Wilcox?" said a deep voice behind me. I turned around with as much control as I could muster—not much, unfortunately. There stood James Norrington, now an admiral, with a nervous look on his face.

"Welcome home, Admiral Norrington," I said with a curtsey. He bowed slightly, and I offered my hand. He kissed it—kissed it!—and led me to the floor.

We conversed idly, just some mild chatter, before James hit on the topic for which we both yearned.

"Miss Wilcox… it has come to my attention that you are quite alone besides the company of your aunt. I am a busy man, but I am of a position in which I should provide for and protect a wife. Certainly a fine young lady like you would agree."

I blushed for the countless time that night. "Yes, Admiral, you certainly could provide for a woman. The question really is—could you take another?"

He looked at me curiously. I could see pain in his eyes, and immediately wished I had not said something so imprudent. However, he nodded. "Please, call me James. I could…"

"If I am to call you James, then you are to call me Patience," I cried, and took his hands in mine.

"Follow me," James said, drawing me slightly away from the dancers. He pulled me to a quiet parlor, unoccupied by the other guests. He gestured to the sofa. I reluctantly let go of his hand and sat down.

He walked slowly to the window, looking out into the Caribbean stars. "Funny thing, really," he said softly. "I don't suppose… I never thought that love could be so intoxicating. Such matters of the heart—well, I never thought they would account for much as a youth. And yet… ah, Patience, you must forgive me."

My mouth had gone completely dry. I swallowed, and said gently, "When one is under such intoxication, it is impossible to speak of much else. I suppose that forgiveness is given."

James turned and smiled at me. With his strong, loping gait, he strode to me and knelt at my skirt. "Patience," he said. "I know that you have suffered much, and yet I must ask… to protect you. Will you do me the honor of… of marrying me?"

My eyes must have grown as wide as wagon carts. "James," I said, "so soon? You have hardly courted me at all!"

I instantly regretted it, for I saw the hurt in his eyes. But he quickly recovered himself. "No, I suppose not," he said. I picked up my hands in his. "Then let us keep our betrothal quiet for a while, before announcing it. We must keep a bit of propriety." I smiled.

With an amazed look, James rose suddenly. He nodded abruptly, and bade me to stand. I acquiesced, and (much to my surprise) James wrapped his strong arms around my waist and swung me around like a little girl. I cannot deny having squealed at that moment. He placed me solidly back on the ground, and my blue eyes met his emerald ones. He kissed me awkwardly, and guided me out of the room. This proved to be quite fortunate, as I nearly fainted in his arms.

* * *

That evening, I sat at home in my parlor, wondering what could have brought on such a sudden show of felicitation. Had James, indeed, fallen in love with me?

Of course he had! He had picked me up and held me. And yet…

No, such nonsense. I am the luckiest girl alive now, even luckier than Elizabeth. But still…

What could he want to protect me from?

* * *

Author's Note: Okay, so now we are getting somewhere. I hope you are paying attention to how dear Norrington is behaving around Patience. You're smart, you might just pick up on it...

Anyway, hope you liked it!


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter Seven: Apples to Apples_

Of course, I did not have any grand epiphany while sitting in my aunt's parlor. I did not expect to, either, which may have been part of the problem.

The next morning, my aunt and I set out for Market Day. We put on our gloves, bonnets, and cheery smiles, and took the carriage.

"What do you think of these uglis, Patience?" Florence asked, and picked up a couple of the fruits in question.

I sniffed one. "Not much, I am afraid. They are under ripe, but will probably molder in the heat of the day." As if my statement were a cue, Florence fanned herself.

"And, of course, they cannot compare to these fruits," I added quickly. I picked up a fresh green apple and tossed it to her. "Imported fresh from Pennsylvania, no doubt."

Florence chuckled. "Funny place we live in now, my dear," she said, and sat down on a small bench. I joined her. "How strange," she continued, "to live in some place where you have to import apples, but there are so many of these odd little citruses that the city is rotting in them. I don't know if you remember much of England, dear, but when you were a little slip of a thing, your father had a grand old apple tree outside your window. You found it an amusing little trick on us to shinny out your bedroom and sit in the tree, munching apples."

I laughed softly. The apple looked delectable, and I could hardly keep from eating it there. However, I simply placed it back in the street vendor's basket.

"I suppose it is strange, isn't it?" I said softly. "So common over there, and so rare over here. I bet they are twice as much imported than they would be at an English market."

"More than that, dear, when you can just reach out your window and have one for free!" chortled Florence. "Then again, sometimes the commoner things are the finer. You are quite right—you must compare apples to apples…or citruses to citruses."

"I suppose some people prefer apples to citruses, or vice versa?"

"And some people like both just the same. I know I like'em both in pies quite nicely." Florence glanced quickly up at me. "People are a lot the same way, you know. Not in pies, per se, but a nice…say, apple girl and a nice citrus girl are both good. Different, true, but good."

For the umpteenth time, I felt myself blushing again. I quickly rose and busied myself at a different market stall.

"I was thinking, perhaps we should have the Admiral Norrington over for dinner sometime?" said my aunt softly. "A nice lamb, perhaps, or maybe a goose would do. And, Patience dear, you may want to look at those cloths over there. I don't want to be left to the last minute putting together your wedding dress."

I spun around and looked Florence straight in the eye. "How on earth did you know?" I cried.

"You were being so silly last night, dear," she laughed. "Every time I mentioned the Admiral, you blushed and changed the subject. I knew he was in the market for a wife, has been for years, the poor man, and…"

I did not particularly care to hear much after that. I sighed, and dragged my aunt back to the bench. "We are trying to be quiet, you see. He hardly courted me at all!"

"Well, no, he did not," Florence said, a bit huffily. "But it does seem things are different now, does it not? Night girls running every dock in the Port, and governor's daughters running off with pirates! Why, I wonder what is wrong with the world?"

"I suppose…I suppose that there's less in it," I said quietly. "A lot less love, anyway. Or perhaps the problem is that there is too much of it."

* * *

A week later, James and I announced our engagement. I found it quite amusing, actually: that stuffy Beckett looked like he would bite both our heads off. We had a lovely little commencement ceremony, hosted by the Governor himself, and a respectable ball.

I busied myself with the greeting of guests in the hall for a while, then departed to dance with James. However, when I found him (after a great deal of searching), I discovered a bit of a row between him and Lord Beckett.

"You, sir, are to assist me with my search." the latter declared calmly. "It was I who put you up here, in case you have already forgotten."

"Be that as it may, your Lordship, I am a bit occupied at the moment!" cried James, as he furiously gesticulated at me. "You gave me leave to find a bride of my choice, and I intend to stand by Miss Wilcox."

"That would be quite prudent of you," Beckett said coldly. "Dark times are approaching, Admiral." His eyes met mine for an instant, and I could swear I felt ill. I am not entirely sure what I saw there, but nothing good could come of it.

Beckett swept out the doorway, past me. Faintly, James shook his head and walked toward me.

"You ought not have seen that, miss," he said, awkwardly clasping his hands behind his back. He looked like a repentant child.

"It's all right," I said. He seemed to be avoiding my gaze. "James," I said softly. He looked up and I caught his eye. "Really, James, you must not refer to me as 'miss' all the time. You will certainly get me confused with every young lady in the port."

He laughed a little at this, and gave a bow. I curtseyed, and took his offered arm. For the rest of the evening, I chose to forget the row.

I would remember it soon, though.

* * *

As James did need to set off to sea soon, something had to be done about the wedding date. Both James and Florence wanted it as soon as possible, but I protested. I finally consented for a date one month after our engagement, and James would leave with Beckett one month after that.

I realized how inappropriate all this would look, and yet I cared less and less as every day passed. Somehow, I knew I would be safe once married to James, and, with Beckett running Port Royal, I felt very unsafe indeed. People may whisper behind their kid-gloved hands, but I did not worry. They would see, I told myself, it would be all right.

I tried to tell myself that one month later, as I gazed at my reflection in the faded mirror. My dress was beautiful—not as pretty as Elizabeth's of course, but quite nice. Lord, how I wished she was there! I wanted her as my maid of honor—instead, Gillette's younger sister would serve as that. Do not misunderstand me, for I did like Ursula, but she was not my closest friend.

Then again, who was?

As I smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles on my gown, Ursula bustled into my room. "Mr. Mercer is here to see you," she said in that raspy way of hers. "He seems quite anxious."

"Thank you, Ursula," I said, distracted. I quit the room and hurried down the stairs.

Mercer stood, taciturn and cold as usual, in the parlor. I quickly curtseyed, and asked how I might help him.

"Do not worry yourself, Miss Wilcox," he said. His voice had adopted an oily tone, like molasses running over butter. I cringed a bit.

"I'm afraid you have already quite worried me," I said grimly. "If you will please excuse my rudeness, I must finish preparing for the wedding.

He swooped across the room and grabbed at my shoulders. "Consider it a warning, Miss Wilcox," he snarled. "You won't be safe at all!"

It took all of my strength not to faint in his dirty hands, but I managed it. I rose to my full height of five-foot-two and glared at him. "Please unhand me, Mr. Mercer. I have a wedding for which I must prepare."

With a disgusted snort, he tossed me to the ground. I slipped and held on to the banister for support as he stormed out the door.

Naively, Ursula traipsed down the stairs.

"Don't be so silly, Patience, what on earth are you doing down there? Come now, we must fix your hair."

I shook my head in disbelief.

* * *

I peered at James through the corner of my eye. He looked dashing, stern and solemn in his full uniform. I caught his eye, and quickly turned away.

The priest's monotone broke for a moment as I heard him say, "And if any man has an objection to this union, he may speak now or forever hold his peace."

For one wild moment, I was sure I felt James stiffen beside me. But no, the moment passed.

"As God as the most Holy Witness, you are now man and wife. Sir, you may kiss the bride," Father Conway said, crossing the two of us.

James bent forward and kissed me quickly. I must say, I was a bit disappointed for the lack of fanfare.

But, ah, look at me! I had gone from little Orphan Patience to Mrs. Admiral James Norrington. Or Patience Wilcox Norrington. I rather liked that better, I think.

James took my arm and guided me through the crowd. We held a wedding tea instead of an evening reception, which I thought was pleasant enough. Nothing as dashing or romantic as what Elizabeth had hoped for, but the afternoon was glorious, the sea cerulean, and my husband beloved.

I wish that afternoon could have lasted forever. But, of course, it did not. James and I retreated to his home--my new home. I directed his manservant to put my bags in our room, and turned to James with a happy smile on my face. He returned it weakly.

"My love," I said, "what's wrong?"

He shook his head rapidly. "Nothing. You are lovely."

"Is it her?" I asked, with a horrible certainty. "I know, I am not like her, but I can be as good--"

He put his hand to my mouth. "Comparing you to Elizabeth cannot be done, darling. One cannot compare an apple to a citrus. You can only do apples to apples, and you two are as different as night and day. Equal in all good things, but altogether different." He smiled, and I believed him.

For that moment, and that night, and I would have for the rest of my life if I had not woken up the next morning. For, you see, I received quite the surprise. The morning after my wedding night, the downfall began with one critical event: my aunt was sent to England.

* * *

All right-ey then, that ending was extraordinarily boring. Ah, well. Next chapter shall be quite thrilling, I hope!


End file.
